


The assassin who came in from the cold

by Sketchione



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Romance, Awkwardness, Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Knives, Master/Servant, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-05-24 05:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6143401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sketchione/pseuds/Sketchione
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beruka never quite understood why Camilla employed her. She was an assassin sent to kill her but now she serves at her side, treated as an equal...a friend...something more? Life goes on, day after day of the same usual routine. Feed the wyverns, annoy Selena somehow, train for hours, get teased by Camilla. The usual stuff.</p>
<p>Of course life has a funny way of treating people who take it for granted and a mistake on Beruka's part nearly ends up with her mistress's death. Sinking deeper and deeper, Beruka knows there's only one way out...one way to repair the damages she's done. Will Camilla be able to show her the light before it's too late? Future romance. Trigger warnings: Emotional trauma, blood, attempted suicide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Another normal day

It couldn't be said that Belka wasn't grateful. She'd never admit it to anyone (including herself) that working for Lady Camilla really wasn't such a bad lot in life to have. It was so much simpler than being an assassin in some ways but, Belka noted, so much more difficult in other, stranger ones. That said, it could also not be said that she didn't have her reservations with her current job (and certain things that came with it).

Why? It was a simple enough question. Why? Belka asked it nearly every day (without question it was every day if she was being brutally honest with herself). Every waking moment and pretty much all of the non-waking ones as well fell into the category of 'why?'

She didn't understand why. She could understand killing. She was very good at that. She could understand deception, betrayal, murder, darkness, death, and suffering. It was what had been drilled into her since day one. No mercy, no fear, no giving up. It was so simple that way. But if there was one person Belka couldn't fool it was herself.

She understood many things, that much was true, but why Lady Camilla continued to employ her wasn't one of them. Why? Even more confusing to her was why she was so…nice. She didn't just treat her well like so many other of the castle staff, she treated her as an equal. That was more than anyone had ever done for her.

They fought together which was understandable, as that was her job, but eating together at the same table was not. She wasn't just nice, she went out of her way to ask if she was feeling alright or did she need a break or even if she wanted her hair brushed. It was all very confusing. Sure she did the same with Selena but did she wipe sauce stains off her face with a handkerchief in front of her family? No. Did she make crude comments about sleeping together on a daily basis (much to Belka's chagrin)? You bet she didn't. All of it made her feel very…well there was no other word than weird.

Why did Lady Camilla put so much effort into going out of her way to make sure she was okay? She was her employee…her servant…her former assassin. Belka had absolutely no idea and it was starting to bother her more than a little.

It had been alright at first with smallish gestures like asking if she wanted a break from cleaning her armor or another task but as time wore on the offers became more and more extravagant. Soon it became 'Would you like to go for a walk, just the two of us' or 'let's go shopping together'. Not shopping for knives or poison or anything of actual use but for…clothes. The only clothes Belka ever wore were functional ones.

That wasn't even the worst of it. The absolute worst one had to be: 'Shall we do our nails together? Won't that be fun?' No, Lady Camilla, it wouldn't. If I was royalty as well or at least a good friend of noble blood and not the gutter born trash sent to murder you in your sleep…then maybe. Of course she would never dare speak out against her employer like that so she kept her reservations to herself, instead claiming she had to train or run errands instead. Whether Camilla knew this was true or not wasn't clear but in her heart Belka knew Camilla knew perfectly well. It was like a game they played.

She made a cursory glance down. It wasn't even like Belka had long enough nails to actually do anything with. What an utterly pointless gesture for Camilla to make. They were still as short as ever, bitten down to stubs. Make no mistake; it wasn't a nervous habit. Anyone in the army would've been sure to answer that Belka had nerves that made steel wish that it was harder, had they been asked.

Any shred of nervousness was purged over time with her father's training. No…it was simply practicality. Short nails meant they were hard and didn't catch on fabrics or anything while she was on contract. It might seem silly or even pointless to someone not in the business but seconds were precious when you were an assassin. Seconds spent untangling a split nail from a stray thread in her cloak could mean the difference between getting caught and escaping.

Every last detail had to be thought of. From the length of her nails to the length of her hair (short cut as so not to obscure her vision and a headband in place to make doubly sure), to the length of her cloak. Too short and it wouldn't help obscure her identity but too long and she could trip. That was the simple reality of her life. The life of the assassin. Planning for anything and everything right down to the last detail. It wasn't even something Belka needed to worry about anymore. She was in the service of Lady Camilla and would be for the foreseeable future.

She did try to kid herself into believing she still did everything she did when she wasn't out of habit but some of it was definitely a conscious matter now. She deliberately kept her hair too short for Camilla to offer to braid like she did with Selena (who had the sense to always refuse). She always still bit her nails to make sure Camilla didn't have any excuse to hang out with her after her work was done.

She never wore makeup, seeing it as a pointless luxury which, although Lady Camilla's generosity afforded her, she would always decline. In fact Belka was beginning to wish she could avoid Lady Camilla whenever possible such was her generosity. Of course that was almost impossible considering her job but the thoughts couldn't be helped.

Belka sighed, allowing herself a rare moment of frustration. Where had this all started? She knew perfectly well but it was nice if she could pretend. Pretending was the only thing she had left.

The job had been simple. Get into castle Nohr, kill the target, and get out. And yet…that's when everything had changed. In the blink of an eye she'd gone from being Camilla's demise to her personal bodyguard and servant. Switched from killing her to not killing her. It was so simple. But why? Why had Camilla hired her? More importantly why did she continue to hire her? Did she fear for her life maybe? Did she believe that if she no longer employed Belka she would switch back to killing her? Not likely. Camilla was many things but she wasn't someone to be afraid without good reason. She was, in fact, a very trusting person beneath her playful attitude, Belka had deduced.

She trusted Selena when she showed up out of the blue with no memory of who she was or how she got there. She would even go as far as to trust someone who had tried to kill her. Belka kept telling herself that it was stupid. Stupid, foolish sentiment that prevent Lady Camilla from seeing her for who she truly was. That must be it. That must be…

"Belka!" That was another thing that Camilla had taken from her: her name. When they'd first met Camilla had apparently 'misheard' Belka giving her name and before she could correct her she'd gone and told everyone in the castle. She'd tried to correct her on multiple occasions but the only reply she'd ever seem to get would be 'you're so silly, Belka! A big strong girl like you needs a big strong name!" She'd given up after the first week.

As time had worn on she'd actually started to like her new name (not that she'd ever tell Camilla that). Before she'd met her adoptive father she'd had no name of her own…a nameless girl on the streets of an equally nameless village. Though it was the only thing she had to remember him by (barring the memory of the lights in his eyes fading when she'd murdered him), she had no real desire to hang on to it.

'Beruka' was simply another way her 'father' had manipulated her, the same as the rest of his training. Beruka was a ruthless killing machine capable of razing entire settlements into the dust if she was payed enough. Belka was still capable of all those things but now she had an even greater purpose: to protect and serve Princess Camilla of the Nohr royal family. Her new name felt…genuine somehow. Though Camilla had only given it to her in passing and probably didn't even remember doing it, giving her this new name almost made her feel…complete. Better the name of her Mistress than that of a now deceased murderer she'd once called father.

"Belka! Where are you?" Belka checked herself. That was Lady Camilla's voice. She must require some form of assistance. Belka quickly put down the chainmail she'd been scrubbing and left immediately for her mistress's quarters. The chainmail and everything else of Camilla's that had needed cleaning had in fact been spotless many minutes prior but then the 'questions' had started up again for the umpteenth and clouded her head. Well it wasn't like Selena cared enough to do it herself, she reasoned. She walked down the corridor and into her mistress's room.

The sight that greeted her had not been one she had been prepared for. It hadn't been the first time Camilla had called her in wearing nothing but her bra and panties (her usual lacy black ones, she noted) but it still embarrassed her all the same. And just to make it that much worse this time she was bent over into her closet, consequently giving Belka quite the view of her…Belka blurred her vision; in times such as these she never allowed herself the release of a blush or a hand over her eyes or anything as obvious as that but instead unfocused her eyes slightly. The image of her half naked mistress wasn't so…off-putting now. It wasn't great but it was the only thing she could do.

"There you are! Would you be a good girl and help me pick out some dresses?"

"…Dresses, Lady Camilla?"

"Yes dresses, Belka. You know the clothes that we girls wear?"

"I'm aware of what a dress is." Belka noted the emphasis of 'we girls'. She was sure it was deliberate and made all the more obvious by the fact Camilla and Belka herself knew the former assassin had never owned one (much less ever worn one).

"Then help me pick one out, silly."

"But, My Lady, we are still at war. Surely now is not the time for such wear?" Camilla waved a perfectly manicured hand at her.

"Details. When the war is over there'll no doubt be celebrations which I'll attend. It pays to be prepared, you know."

You don't have to tell me. And that's assuming you survive the war, of course. And we're on the winning side.

"Are you just going to stand there and ogle my body, attractive as it is, or are you going to help me?"

"Of course, my Lady." Belka had almost gotten used to her teasing by now. Almost. There was always a negligible feeling at the back of her head of an indescribable nature but she did her best to ignore it. She was forced to refocus her eyes as so not trip on Camilla's discarded garments, trying to ignore the curves of her body or anything even slightly distracting. Belka stared into the closet. She never knew so many dresses existed, let alone in one place.

"Yes…these are your dresses, my lady," she stated.

"Well…?"

"…" Belka had absolutely no idea what to do. If this had been a closet full of knives then sure she would be able to pick out the sharpest or most efficient but a dress…? A dress had no function. It was something to wear like a tunic or wrist band. What was the difference between them? "I…"

"What's wrong?"

"I…I cannot tell the difference between them," Belka said simply. "It is true there are many dresses here of varying colours and lengths but I…I'm not sure I'm the right person to ask for advice in this area." Belka felt a slight pressure on her shoulder, almost allowing her instincts to kick in and accidently snap Camilla's wrist from the unexpected contact.

"You're no fun, you know that?"

"…It would appear so."

"But…" Camilla leaned down (being at least half a head taller than Belka), placing her lips right next to the assassins ear. "I didn't really ask you in here to help me pick out a dress." So she'd figured. Belka had known from the moment Camilla had asked that something was up. They both knew Belka's fashion sense was non-existent (if practical). So what was the reason she'd been summoned?

She got her answer soon enough. Camilla's arms snaked from behind and wrapped around her midsection, pulling Belka closer. Sure enough, as Belka had suspected, her mistress was now hugging her from behind, breasts resting lightly on her shoulders. She'd seen it coming miles away and it certainly hadn't been the first time she'd done it but that didn't make it any less awkward. Belka tried to twist around but Camilla was a lot stronger than she looked and held her in place.

"Lady Camilla…is this strictly necessary? I have other duties to attend to."

"I thought you might say that," she whispered into her ear. "But might I remind you of your primary duty?"

"To serve you, my lady," Belka said, not with resignation or acceptance but definitely not any enthusiasm either.

"Good girl…and right now I require you to just stand here and let me hug you. Be the subject for my affections."

"But I haven't done anything as of late to warrant such an action."

"Nonsense! You…you…" For the slightest moment Belka swore she could've heard her mistress hesitate. "You…went out and fed our Wyverns today."

"I do that every day."

"You also…helped down in the kitchen earlier."

"I also do that most days, my Lady."

"You…I don't know, okay?" She huffed, ruffling the others hair lightly. "Do I need a reason to appreciate my favorite little helper?" Belka thought about objecting but thought better of it. She would never, ever admit to it but having her mistress hugging her body to her and sharing her warmth did feel nice in the strangest of ways. She didn't understand why she did it or why it felt the way it did but for the time being she was content just to stay there and take her 'appreciation'. She was ever so warm.

The two of them stood there in silence for a good few minutes, each listening to the rhythm of the others breathing. Feeling the rising and falling in each other's chests. Once in a while Belka was forced to blow any strands of Camilla's lavender hair out of her eyes as they kept tumbling down, her mistress gently rocking her back and forth.

Belka knew she was deluding herself that this was a normal thing to happen but if her mistress was happy then so was she. That was her job now. Having said that it was still strange for her employer to be twirling locks of her hair around her finger absentmindedly. It had also come to Belka's attention some time ago that her Lady Camilla only ever seemed to be lacking clothes when she was around. She never once saw her and Selena getting all…appreciative like this. Maybe she was just unlucky like that? Or maybe she was…Belka immediately expelled the thought as quickly as it had surfaced. Thoughts like that will do no one any good.

As the seconds ticked on by Belka noticed the hand that wasn't stroking her hair was starting to…drift. If Camilla was trying to be subtle she wasn't doing a very good job. However anyone, including Belka, who knew Camilla knew that subtlety wasn't one of her traits. This meant that the hand of her mistress that was slowly making its way down towards her lower thigh wasn't going unnoticed. Not by a long shot.

"Lady Camilla?"

"Hmm…" Belka could see out of the corner of her eye that the eyes of her mistress had become clouded. Her head was in proverbial clouds, Belka surmised. That still didn't make what was happening any less weird.

"…What are you…" The hand was getting lower, drifting across her midriff and playing with her shirt. "My Lady…" The hand payed her no heed, instead circling around slowly to the top of her hip. The little circles her fingers were starting to draw on Belka's skin were more than a little uncomfortable. If there was a line that mistress and servant had in place, Camilla seemed to have forgotten of its existence. Of course Camilla did everything deliberately so Belka simply couldn't allow herself to believe this was accidental (nor were the pinching motions her fingers were starting to perform). No…everything was done for a reason.

The hand was well past her hip now, finally reaching the assassin's lower thigh. Belka was glad that her face was obscured from her mistress because no amount of unfocusing was ever going to let her forget the sensations flowing through her leg at that moment (nor the rising heat in face that she could feel coming with it).

"Lady…Camilla?"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…What are you doi…?" The hand was slowly creeping around from the side of her thigh to the middle of her lower body. In other words…it was getting dangerously close to an area that Belka was, understandably, private of. That was the last straw. Mistress or not, Belka had her limits. She wrenched herself free of Camilla's grip and pushed herself away. Unfortunately Belka had misjudged the distance between herself and the bed and ended up falling backwards.

Luckily for her, Camilla, now having snapped out of her daydream, managed to catch her. Of course she herself was then pulled down by the sudden weight and onto the bed as well; Camilla's form fell on top of Belka's with a light thud. Though Camilla wasn't necessarily a heavy person she hid a lot under her armor, and Belka had all the wind knocked out of her. It really wasn't helping matters that her barely clothed breasts were almost completely blocking the assassin's field of vision.

"Well…that was certainly interesting," Camilla giggled. "If you wanted me like this all you had to was ask. Having said that…this was certainly a fun way to begin."

"Lady Camilla…"

"What is it, honey?"

"…Selena."

"Luna?" Camilla's nicknaming wasn't just limited to Belka; she'd caught Selena sneaking out of the castle at night on more than one occasion and from then on had decided to call her Luna. Where she was sneaking off to was apparently unimportant and Belka was never interested enough to check.

Camilla followed Belka's gaze past her to the door and, with a sickening feeling forming in the pit of her stomach, noted that they were no longer alone.

Selena's face was picture perfect, her blush very nearly the same colour as her shock of red hair, jaw slightly agape. Whether her other retainer had the worst or the most comic timing in the world wasn't clear but one thing certainly was: Belka and Camilla were lying in bed together, one on top of the other with the former's face being practically smothered by the latter's breasts. Camilla was also acutely aware that all this was happening when she was in her bra and panties.

To clarify…she was on top of one her servants…in nothing but her bra and panties, black and lacy for all to see…in front of another one of her servants. The reality of the situation took a while to kick in but when it did Camilla's usually calm demeanour had all but vanished.

"L-Luna! I-I can e-explain," she stuttered. What followed Camilla's half-hearted denial could only be described as the most excruciating thirty seconds of silence in the history of Nohr…and probably the world too. Selena stood slack jawed, eyes flitting between that of her fellow subordinate, stony and unflinching, and that of her mistress, still wide like that of a deer caught in a net.

"…..Well I was going to see if you needed help with anything but I think you've got all the bases covered. I'll…just be leaving now. You two have fun together." And with that, Selena turned sharply on her heel and walked briskly in the other direction (most likely to lie down and try to forget the disturbing images she'd just seen).

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…Lady Camilla…could you please get off me?"

"Oh, o-of course!" The taller woman leapt off the bed, hauling Belka after her. "Are you hurt? I didn't crush you or anything did I?"

"No."

"I'm so sorry that happened! I didn't mean for that to happen..." For once her mistress's eyes weren't filled with playful flirting but rather…actual caring. She saw it all the time when Camilla interacted with the other Nohr royals but seldom anyone else; Belka knew she was seeing it but it was still hard to process that Camilla actually cared about her, rather than just a constant source of teasing as she usually was.

"It is fine," Belka replied monotonously. Camilla was having none of it and the words began to pour out so fast Belka had a hard time processing everything that was being said.

"Oh gods I didn't want that to happen. Stupid, stupid Camilla! I just wanted…arghh! I don't even know what I was thinking!"

"My Lady…"

"One second I was hugging you and I don't know I must have started drifting off because my hand was on your leg and…oh I'm so sorry!

"Lady Camilla…"

"I j-just wanted to tease you that's all! I never meant for…oh gods why!" Her face was starting to blush as heavily as Selena's had. "And then…oh gods Luna walked in? What must she think of me? How can I explain? Will she believe me? What if she…tells other people what she saw? What if…?"

"MISTRESS!" Camilla stopped mid-sentence, shocked that the normally reserved Belka had actually raised her voice outside of the battlefield, much less raised it against that of her.

"…Um…yes Belka?"

"You are over reacting."

"Belka you can't be serious! Luna just walked in on me practically smothering you with my breasts whilst half naked and lying in bed. I think it's a very reasonable reaction!"

"But you said it was an accident? Was it not?"

"W-well it was but…"

"Then we will treat it as such and no harm was done."

"But…"

"Accidents can happen, my Lady. I do understand the circumstances of this one were…strange, and I do not fully understand all the aspects involved but it was an accident none the less."

"But Luna…"

"I will speak with her. I am sure she will understand." Camilla took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. If only it were that simple. She took a long, hard look into her subordinate's eyes. They were the same as ever. That is to say that they were unflinching, but not without emotion. The tiniest scrap of duty was always present, giving constant reassurance the Belka was by her side.

She sighed. The way Belka spoke of the events that had just transpired made it sound like they were discussing what kind of tea to drink and not 'did Selena (or indeed Belka herself) think she was coming on to her'? She quickly checked herself. It was an accident…that much was true. Belka's eyes certainly didn't seem to hold anything against her. Camilla sighed once more.

"Fine." It was a simple enough conclusion to events and not one that did it any justice but it was the only word Belka needed to hear.

"Then if that is all…"

"You may go. I'll…see you tomorrow."

"Of course." Belka could feel Camilla's eyes on her as she left the room. It was the look of someone not quite believing everything that had just happened was real and any second now they were going to wake up. Belka knew from experience that never happened. Everything that had just happened was real. From the way the blush had spread across her superior's face when she realised that she was on top of her, and the blush deepening once she realised Selena had walked in by mistake, to the look of shock and then absolute disgust plastered across her face once she saw what was going on.

Belka payed none of it any mind. Why would she? It was just another regular day of serving Lady Camilla as far she was concerned. What she done today? Got up early as usual. Went for her early morning run. Trained. Fed the wyverns. Ate lunch. Helped destroy some faceless ones. More training. Cleaned Lady Camilla's armor. Fell victim to another one of Lady Camilla's silly schemes to tease her. Went to bed.

The last item was a current one and she could theoretically go for another run beforehand but for whatever reason she was feeling drained. Not physically drained, mind you, but there was a feeling…a feeling lingering at the back of her mind that was making her just want to lie down. Belka shook her head. It was probably just another one of her Lady Camilla's silly jokes. So why did she feel so…weird? There was no other word for it. And still the questions lingered. Why? She would dwell on it later. And tomorrow. What would she do tomorrow? Get up early as usual. Go for an early morning run…


	2. Routine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you it'd be a while before I updated again. I wasn't lying you know and this fic will never die. I promise

If Belka had been having any doubts that breakfast would be any different because of the events that had transpired yesterday, they were unfounded. At least it seemed that way. A cheerful greeting rang out across the dining hall, washing away the stress (at least in part) of any doubts she’d been having. At the very least the doubts had been swept under the rug, ready to resurface at a more…interesting time.

“Hello Belka! What will it be today?” Came from none other than Camilla herself. If she was still in any way embarrassed she did a remarkable job of keeping it hidden. Belka was very good at telling when someone was being insincere. However, her Lady Camilla’s question was the genuine article which, if anything, simply rammed home the point in Belka’s mind that the events of yesterday were simply another one of her mistress’s tricks to tease her.

“I always eat the same thing,” she answered dully. “You know that.”

“Yes but I thought maybe you’d like a change for once.” 

“Someone could poison me…or you. I don’t recommend eating anything in here.”

“How many times, Belka, how many times? No one is trying to kill us.” Belka bit her tongue. This was part of the daily routine too. At breakfast Camilla would always ask if she would like anything different and, as always, she would always refuse, instead going straight for the sealed ration packs. No one could tamper with them that way. Though Camilla always told her she had no reason to be suspicious of any within castle Nohr, Belka had to remind her that she was once in the position of   
infiltrating. Not defending like she as now. Thus she remained attached to her rations.

“…”

“Suit yourself.” 

Camilla passed over a pack to her retainer (who thanked her wordlessly) before fixing herself some of the bread the cooks had made that morning. Every single morning the dining hall was filled, almost drowning, in the smell of freshly baked bread and for someone who’d grown up on the streets it was about as close to heaven as you could get.

Belka did her best to ignore it, instead focusing on opening the processed mediocrity she allowed herself. She hadn’t given in before and she wasn’t going to start now. Besides…the rations weren’t that bad. They did the job at least.

Despite what Camilla told her, deep down Belka knew she didn’t deserve such luxuries like fresh bread…much less anything to spread on it as Camilla was doing now. How many people had she deprived of life’s pleasures as she slit their throats as they slept? Too many. Though it was a small price, almost laughably so compared to a life taken, the least she could do was give herself unnecessary hardships as a way of payment.

Yes, not all of the people she was payed to kill were good. Some were very much bad. But there was that small percentage, that tiny little number festering at the back of her mind that knew very well that some of the people she killed were good. Priests. Charity workers. Healers. Their blood dripped down through the pillows all the same.

Soaked into their sheets all the same as they drew their strangled final breathes, the dying lights in their eyes finding Belka’s own in their last moments. Their fear. Their pain. They were hers now, burned into her mind forever as the knife slipped silently back into its sheath. The darkness never did end with night time. It followed her everywhere she went and Castle Nohr was no exception.

Though the walls were stone and sealed tight against even the most brutal of assaults, still it followed her. It was how Belka herself had slipped in in the first place on that fateful night. But that was beside the point.

The point was luxuries were for people good of heart. Though Camilla was a completely different person on the battlefield, hacking and slashing with such ferocity at her enemies, Belka knew that her rage was justified. The people they were fighting weren’t good. Belka lost no sleep over their deaths and her Lady Camilla, quite rightly, didn’t either. 

Off the battlefield…that was a different matter. Camilla moved with such grace and ease, transitioning from merciless Malig-knight to caring princess. Belka could make no such leap. Yes…it had been clear to her from the very start. Deep down her Lady Camilla was a good person…and deep down…Belka was not.

“…” Selena had joined them. She didn’t even need to turn around to know that; everyone exerted a specific amount of pressure when they walked, hence why all footsteps sounded different. Selena was heavier than her own but lighter than Camilla.

Predictably, she wasn’t nearly as good as Camilla when it came to hiding her feelings and was already blushing profusely. Belka hadn’t exactly expected her to forget the events that had transpired yesterday but had at least expected more subtlety about it.

“G-good morning, Lady Camilla.” She turned to the assassin, still blushing.

“Hey Belka.” Belka didn’t reply, only nodding.

“Good morning, Luna dear,” Camilla said, offering her a place at the table. “Did you sleep well?” Belka already knew she hadn’t; her makeup had been applied rather well but not quite well enough to completely hide the bags under her eyes.

“Of course. Like a log, duh.” For someone supposedly so poor at disguising their emotion, Selena was an excellent liar. The blushing façade hid her real pain; a lie within a lie. Clever. Camilla nodded absentmindedly, handing her some of that oh so sweet smelling bread.

How she functioned at all was a mystery. Belka herself was a light sleeper, light to the point a single breath in the room that was not her own was enough to wake her…but she still slept. Sleep was important. Sleep kept you fast, alert, ready for anything. And yet Selena somehow managed just fine. Belka took a closer look; maybe ‘managed’ was a slight overstatement.

The two that had arrived with her, Laslow and Odin, would often enter her chambers at night once the screaming began. How Selena never woke anyone else up was also a mystery. All of them were a mystery and yet here one of them was, no backstory no history no…nothing, protecting her Lady Camilla alongside her.  
Belka ignored the chatter between the two continuing alongside her, instead focusing on her ‘breakfast’. Like she was one to talk about trust. Selena demonstrated nothing but loyalty to their Mistress; Belka knew she could’ve killed them both over seven different ways this morning alone. And yet…she didn’t.

Here she was. Maybe Camilla just looked for the best in people? Belka checked herself. Of course she did: How else would a lowlife murderer like herself ever dine with a member of the royal family if that wasn’t the case? Double check. What good was there for her to see? Belka certainly didn’t see any redeeming qualities in herself. Triple check; since when did it matter what anyone thought of her, least of all herself? She was here to do a job and do that job she would…no matter the cost. That was what she did every day and what she’d continue to do every day until someone told her to stop. That was her routine.

Of course, any assassin knows that routine is one of the worst things one can do to themselves. It breeds a sense of false security. That leads to complacency. In the end that leads to…mistakes.  
\---  
A good assassin is always ready. That was another mantra that had been drilled into her for as long as she could remember.

It therefore wasn’t surprising in the slightest when their routine patrol of the southern border had turned into a free for all bloodbath. The faceless were relentless. They’d already lost three people, screams drowned by those of the living.

Even high in the sky on her wyvern visibility was non-existent. Nohr’s weather apparently hadn’t grasped the seriousness of their situation and was determined to make things as difficult as possible.

“On your right!” She heard Selena’s voice scream up towards her. Belka veered sharply, barely missing the volley of rocks that flew by. Maybe she should thank her, maybe she shouldn’t. She was just doing her job after all.

Belka frowned. The Stoneborn were a lot cleverer than people thought. They were certainly coordinated enough to launch boulders at specific targets. Already they’d used them to block off their escape route and surround them. Of course Belka and the other flyers could escape but…she could see Camilla down below her, casting spells left right and centre, axe swinging with precision. If she wasn’t going to leave (and Belka knew she wouldn’t with soldiers still in danger) then she would stay too. To protect her above all else.

She swooped down, decapitating an invading archer. Those weren’t good for her wyvern any more than the rocks were. Camilla had dismounted her wyvern some time ago, preferring to take the enemy out on foot. That and she’d become convinced the animal had become too tired to carry on.  
Belka looked at her own wyvern (narrowly dodging another volley of rocks). She had no idea how it was faring. It seemed to by obeying her commands which was good enough for her.

Camilla looked so elegant, even when gouging someone’s eyes out with the butt of her axe. She was slicing, twirling, hacking, with one hand and casting magic from the other. If she had her other eye uncovered she’d be even better.

Belka turned away, quickly swooping down to block an attack to one of the convoy. She didn’t stay for thanks, rising back into the sky. If she left Camilla for too long she knew what would happen. She was kind to her friends and cruel to her enemies. That’s what the castle staff always said. They were wrong.  
If Camilla took a fancy to you she’d lavish as much attention on them as she could get away with (as Belka herself had experienced first-hand) and then some. To her enemies…the assassin had a first-person view from the sky. 

She was relentless. Every twirl on the spot with those ridiculously high heels of hers sent out spray after spray of dirt and grass. If the visibility was poor before, it was completely gone now for any enemies with a twenty foot radius; the rain turned the dirt to mud, blinding all who came near her. In the confusion they were easy targets. A quick slash here or a thunder spell there was all it took. A one woman killing machine. How she never got dizzy was another mystery.

Belka had to admire that. She’d always found a respect in people whose killing techniques were strange yet effective. She’d often wondered about the point of the heels. They were ill suited to running (or even walking) so much so that Belka, of considerably shorter stature, could actually outpace Camilla during a walk.  
When questioned as to why she insisted on wearing them on the battlefield (or at all) she’d simply laughed and told her it was a ‘personal choice’. She had to look good while moving down the enemy after all.

It was dangerously effective. The heels were drill like and were sharp enough to a) throw debris into the air as she was doing now, and b) sharp enough to stab through most armor on a grounded opponent. 

There was also a ‘c)’ but Belka thought much less of it as a strategy. Using the heels to ‘increase her “appeal”’ as Camilla put it, when sneaking into a bandit camp was an odd way of gaining intel. It worked though. Most men (and the occasional woman) were beguiled by her and let slip things that really shouldn’t have been. Belka didn’t understand why.

Or the rest of the armor for that matter. It was black, she understood that part. Like her own, it would allow a night mission to go undetected for longer, if at all. The rest (barring the heels which clearly served multiple purposes) was a total mystery.

Her legs were mostly fine up until her torso. How had that got past the blacksmith responsible? There was just…a gap. It wasn’t a particularly big one but if it was big enough for Belka to get through then anyone could get through. It might as well have been the size of her head.

Didn’t she know that a single arrow or sword strike was in prime position to slice through her femoral artery…or worse, the top of her aorta? It was a literal chink in her armor. Instead she’d opted for a ridiculous set up of hip high…Belka struggled with the exact definition.

Were they boots? Pants? Trousers? Whatever they were, they were ridiculous. Instead of actual armor protecting probably the most vital joint in her body she’d gone for those boot things and metal panties. Belka didn’t like to swear, emotion leading to mistakes, but this warranted it. Every time she thought about it, it annoyed her to no end. 

How the fuck was that safe? Did she want to get injured? A couple or stray arrows, something that normal armor would have stopped no problem, occasionally found their way there. Belka was sworn to protect Lady Camilla above all else and this just made it a whole lot more difficult.

That was only half the story. Belka was glad she was twirling right now. If she couldn’t ride a wyvern she might as well have had a target painted onto her chest. Literally. Of all the places for there to be a hole, an intentional one, why would anyone put it in the centre of her chest? Yes, when combined with the heels and skimpy panties it made the seduction of guards and bandits of either gender a whole lot easier but for actual fighting…no…just no.

It was terrible. Belka had to be on constant look out for when anyone got close to her liege. In a firefight…that was kind of a lot. She was a retainer, not a babysitter…or was supposed to be. Camilla liked her to be close at all times…and now she always had a reason to be, at least on the battlefield.  
She quickly ducked out of the way of yet another rock storm. That one was too close.

Keep a clear mind. Just stay near to her and…

“Help!” Belka tore her attention away from her Mistress. Though the rain made it hard to see, years of training had bought her amazing eyesight. She could just make out a couple of their party below, currently trapped by rocks from a dead Stoneborn. Camilla would rip into her (if she ever found out), telling her that protecting her was only part of the duty. Making sure people she cared about were safe too was also her job apparently.

That would’ve been fine had Camilla not formed a personal bond with every single member of the Nohrian army. So helping ‘people she cared about’ was just a poor code for ‘everyone’ then. There was a reason she was as beloved as a princess and person she was and it wasn’t by being idle (like Belka was currently being).  
Sighing, she set off.

The wind was really picking up, making it difficult to land. She glanced over to Camilla’s position. She’d stopped spinning but at least had the sense to use her tomes to guard her chest area. Not as smart as having actual armor (and being a princess Belka knew she could afford it) but it would have to do under the circumstances.

“Thank the gods you’re here! This creature fell onto us and…”

“I know,” Belka affirmed, cutting the man off. She dismounted. “Wyvern, lift!” The creature nodded its enormous head in response, proceeding to lift the boulders away, one by one, with its fearsome claws. “There, you’re free to fight again.”

“Oh thank you! Thank you so much. I…” The man fell, his friend crouching down beside. Belka frowned into the wind.

“Are you hurt?”

“My leg…I think it’s broken.”

“It’s a miracle more of our bones weren’t crushed!” The other replied.

“You’ll have a hard time finding a healer out on the field,” Belka said, gesturing around her. The rain was getting even worse. She’d lost sight of Camilla but she could take care of herself for a few moments. “Get out of here. It isn’t safe.” The soldiers seemed appalled by the idea.

“We cannot abandon our comrades! We can still fight!”

“Not with a broken leg. There’s nothing more you can do. It’s too dangerous to go alone. You,” she said to the other. “…go with him.”

“…You’re one of Princess Camilla’s retainers aren’t you?”

“Beruka isn’t it?” Belka winced.

“It’s Belka. Why do you ask?”

“Well…thank you. We’d…uh…heard stories about you. About how cold and emotionless you were supposed to be and how unhelpful to anyone who wasn’t Princess   
Camilla. I…was wrong to believe that. You’re a good person.”

“I…” For once in her life she was properly lost for words. Belka resorted to adjusting her headband unnecessarily in the hope that they’d eventually go away.

“Come on,” the one without the broken leg said to his friend. “Let’s get you to safety.” They both disappeared into the rain. 

Belka remounted her wyvern, ascending once more. They were wrong. She was about as far from a good person as could be. It didn’t bother her that they thought that, the opinions of others having no impact on her life, but Belka at least thought she should do something about it.  
There were many advantages to being seen to be cold and above everyone else. But how could she achieve such a thing when her Lady Camilla had her helping everyone she came across. It wasn’t possible. Speaking of Lady Camilla…

She couldn’t miss that lavender hair anywhere. And then…she was falling. Her Mistress had tripped backwards over a body of a lifeless invader. So much for ‘taking care of herself’ for a moment. Already there were other bandits closing in around her. The second she turns her back…oh forget it. This was a typical occurrence.

Swiftly landing, Belka threw herself into the action. They were many and they were strong but they were no match for her. At least at first. She’d been going for over an hour already and it was starting to take its toll. With every parry did her arms scream a little louder, telling her it was time to rest. 

She didn’t listen. The invaders weren’t giving up. Either they knew of Camilla’s significance in the royal family or were just wanting revenge for their fallen allies. It didn’t matter. They wanted her dead and Belka wasn’t going to let them. A conflict of interests on a dangerous scale. Scales that were slowly tipping out of her favour.

“Give up, girlie!” One of the, a swordsmaster, jeered. “It’s six on one.”

“Heh.” Belka spat out some of the blood collecting behind her lips. “It used to be ten.” The man’s smiling façade dropped, noting the bodies behind him.

“I know who you are. The famous assassin, Beruka, reduced to a puppet of the privileged.”

“…”

“I came from the streets too you know!” He looked behind him for support, getting ragged cheers in response. “We ain’t so different.”

“…You’re right. I’m walking out of here alive.”

“You’re a cocky bitch,” he growled. “I’ve lost good men to you.” He gestured to the unconscious royal behind her. “If she and her kind didn’t raise the damn tax barrier so high we wouldn’t have to be doing this.”

“That’s King Garon, not the rest of the royal family.”

“Like I care! They’re all the same…and they’ll die all the same.” The man raised his weapon, his followers following suit. Belka gritted her teeth. Where was backup when she needed it? The answer came in the form of a blast of lightning. Their leader was still for a moment…then collapsed into the mud. It was more like sludge what with the worsening weather but that was beside the point.

Belka allowed herself another rare grin. She didn’t need to turn around to know the bandits mistake. It was always the same one. Talking too long. Camilla sprang up behind her, having recovered from her fall, firing off another thunder spell.

The bandits scattered but Belka was having none of it. Even in the rain her dagger throwing was deadly accurate. The key word was deadly. The men dropped like flies (only less elegant), crumpling into what was left of the ground. Apparently satisfied, Camilla rounded on her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

“Great job my adorable little Belka. Keeping them talking like that for me.”

“...Lady Camilla, there’s a time and a place. Not here.” She was ‘shhed’ quietly, the lavender haired woman nestling into her hair. It was matted with dirt at this point but Belka didn’t care. She hated to admit it (like always) but the hug felt good. Really good.

“Now then,” the royal exclaimed, gently pushing her away. “…was that so hard?”

“…No.” Camilla picked up her own axe out of the mud.

“Good. Take your appreciation like a good gir…” It all happened so fast. The one Camilla had fallen back over had stood up, weapon in hand. Belka was sure he’d been dead.

The man had a sword. A sharp one. It was heading straight for Camilla’s chest. Her exposed chest. Camilla turned, following her retainers panicked gaze, but, as expected, lost her footing on the loose ground.

The sword was so close now. Belka tried to raise her own axe but…she was so, so tired. She couldn’t, she wasn’t strong enough. Not physically or mentally. Her resolve shattering, Belka launched herself towards her Mistress, desperate to take the blow for her.

She knew it was far too late. She could see the fury in the bandit’s eyes, burning through and into her soul. Camilla’s own eyes, slowly shutting to spare herself from the cold taste of steel. Her own…wide with fear at…at everything. For once in her life she genuinely had no idea what to do. And then…

“Not today, buster!” Selena had appeared of nowhere, using her shield to block to sword. At least that was the intention. The sword drove straight through the metal plating with a horrible screeching. Selena’s face twisted from triumph to one of horror, her moment of glory snatched away.  
The shield had stopped the sword…mostly. A portion of it, about three inches, lay imbedded into Camilla’s chest. Her eyes flashed open briefly then closed again. They did not re-open.

Snapping herself out of the shock, Selena rounded on the man, elbowing him in the nose which caused him to drop the sword. Worryingly, it didn’t fall to the ground, instead being content to be pinned in place in Camilla’s chest. Before he could recover, another one of Belka’s throwing knives had made sure he wouldn’t be getting up.

Camilla wasn’t getting up either. Selena had already run off to find a healer, if there was any there. Belka had seen one be decapitated earlier. They’d lost so many good people today…she’d just never thought, not for a second, that Lady Camilla might’ve been one of them. 

Belka looked at her hands. They were shaking. They never shook, not even in the freezing cold of Nohr in winter. She would never admit why now. That she was scared. For once in her life she was scared. 

She grasped Camilla’s wrist, desperate for a pulse. Whether her fingers had been numbed by the cold or her mind numbed by the trauma…she couldn’t feel anything. Not a single beat. The pulse taking turned into hand holding. Belka’s rough and calloused in Camilla’s much smoother. She was getting sentimental. Gasping, Belka threw her hand away violently.

That was the reason why this had happened, she realised. It was easy to blame Camilla’s choice in armor for this but it should never have come to that. Belka should have been there to stop it well in advance. Instead she’d been sloppy. Letting Camilla out of her sight, even for a second, to rescue those people trapped by the rocks. She’d have let them die a thousand times to have saved Camilla. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. She punctuated each word with a blow to her own head, as if to knock some sense into her. It…it was too late for sense now. Camilla was either dead or about to die with no chance of a healer making it in time.

Belka let herself fall back into the mud alongside her liege. It was freezing but it didn’t matter. She didn’t care if someone came for her now. Even then it was too late for penance. Camilla had saved her life in more ways than one. Without her…

Oh gods. What was she going to do? She’d have to go back to the… NO! Belka clutched at Camilla’s hand, desperate find a pulse or ANYTHING that would show that she was still alive. She was NOT going back on the streets. Not after everything that had happened. Selena was going to find a healer and everything was going to be fine. Why did she get the feeling that wasn’t the case?

Even now she knew. The real reason Camilla was as she was now. Belka knew deep down that helping those soldiers or her tiredness had nothing to do with it. She was getting soft. Sentimental. In that split second of seeing the bandit raise his sword, she’d frozen completely. Paralysed with fear over losing Camilla. The best thing that had ever happened to her.

If she’d just said ‘no’ to all those times Camilla had invited her into her private quarters for ‘appreciation time’ then she wouldn’t have gotten attached. All those times she’d hugged her and she’d embraced the warmness, instead of pushing it away she should have.   
Those hugs…those oh so warm and filling hugs…they’d ruined her. Where there was warmth before was now only cold. An empty cold, never to be rekindled. Even now on the battlefield she’d let her guard down again because Camilla had asked it of her.

Oh gods why. It was as if all those years of supressing her emotions was coming back to bite her as the flood gates opened. Tears fell freely, vanishing into the mud. No…it can’t be. If she hadn’t have gotten so sentimental, so attached to her Mistress then none of this would have happened. Ironically, it was because she’d let herself care too much about Camilla that she’d failed.

If she’d just been another employer then the man’s arm would have come off long before the sword had been raised. Seeing Camilla as a friend, a person, instead of just another job had made her afraid. Afraid of losing her…and now she had. 

Belka hunched over the body. She could hear Selena in the distance, rushing back with someone in tow. A healer? Did it matter now? Whether Camilla lived or died now was irrelevant. Belka undid her headband, letting it fall onto her liege’s body.

She’d failed. Failed in her primary duty to protect Camilla above all else…even her own life. That’s why she’d tried to throw herself in the path of the sword before Selena had intervened. Still…either way the situation had become clear. Clearly, Belka had become too attached to Lady Camilla and that had made her sloppy. Nearly cost her her life.

If Camilla was to truly be safe, she needed a new retainer. One that would keep the relationship strictly professional and not let personal feelings get in the way. It was a shame it had taken such a drastic event to make her see sense but Belka saw very clearly now.

Camilla wasn’t going to let her go, the attachment clearly not being one-sided (if the affections weren’t just teasings). If they were then all the better. Belka didn’t want to break Camilla’s heart (if it ever healed from the sword just now) but it was the only way to keep her safe. Still, even if she did somehow genuinely care about her then it didn’t matter. Duty came before feelings.

Belka found herself stifling a dry laugh. If that had been her logic not thirty seconds ago then none of this would have ever happened. As it stood, it had. Belka was going to have to go. What was it in their contract? ‘Above all else, even her own life’.

Though Belka didn’t much care for the Samurai code, there was one thing that made sense to her. If she failed in her duties, her life was forfeit. Being as she’d failed to protect Camilla’s, it made sense her own was the price. Her price of failure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Camilla's armor is weird. Seriously...it's just so unsafe, if appealing. Fanservice before praticality amirite? Will probably be another gap before the next chapter. I promised you this fic wouldn't die and I stand by that. It will be finished. Just...at my own pace. Thanks for reading!


	3. The dark, the knife, and the blood.

Four days. It had taken four entire days for Camilla to wake up. The fact that she’d woken up at all was nothing short of a miracle. Belka sighed to herself. She hated the idea of miracles. Luck in general. It made it so that things in the world didn’t depend solely on her own strength and skill. It added randomness…an unpredictability. It was horrible.

_Maybe I should have blamed my failure on luck?_ Belka thought to herself. _But that wouldn’t be fair. Not to Lady Camilla or to anyone._ Thankfully King Garon had very little to say on the matter. Actually Belka wouldn’t have been surprised in he’d had nothing to say even if Camilla had died. It’s like he didn’t care for her or any of his children. The only one he seemed interested in was ‘Anankos’. Whoever that was.

Four days since the four days. That was the amount of time Camilla had been assuring her that she’d done nothing wrong. That she’d done all she could to prevent the attack. She was wrong. Belka wouldn’t dare say that to her mistress’s face of course, but the feeling was still there. It raged around inside her like a worm on fire. Eating away at her resolve.

She should’ve been faster. She should’ve had easily deflected the sword or at least thrown herself in the way of it…but she hadn’t. She’d frozen. Belka _never_ froze. She was a hardened assassin, the killer of hundreds.

Why had she frozen when another human was in danger? She killed humans all the time. Belka knew why. She cared about her. In her relatively short life she’d never cared about anyone, not even herself. She shut her eyes, remembering the time she’d come closest to doing so.

 

* * *

 

She’d always been a light sleeper. Even without her adoptive father’s training she could never drift into sleep’s embrace without wanting to. That was a lesson she’d learned a long time ago. The slums weren’t exactly carefree territory. She’d met someone, way before she’d known her ‘father’, who’d been good to her. That was the closest she’d ever come to caring.

The old father of the baker shop owner on the outskirts. He was good to her, kind to her even. They hadn’t really ever met, not really. Exchanged a few glances maybe from across the darkening street (and a gentle smile on his part) but that was it.

If ever something was past its best and wasn’t able to be sold, he’d slip it behind the bins for her to find. Maybe the bread had been burned or the pastries not sugary enough but they were still edible. Even the pouring rain attempting soak them never stopped her taking them. One time it had even been leftover bean soup. Many a time when Belka had thought she’d have to go another night without food, had she been saved by the morsels left by the kind old man.

Of course what the streets giveth, the can also take away. Can and will. Belka remembered the day well, almost second by second.

Robberies weren’t uncommon in the slums, not by a long shot but it was rare they went so horribly wrong. ‘Horrible’ maybe wasn’t the word here. People died every day. Whether by starvation or a rain soaked illness. At least it was quick for him.

They were just kids, barely older than Belka herself at the time. The old man had walked in to see what the noise was and one of them panicked. Drove his pocket knife up through his stomach and up into his right lung. They’d fled immediately, with Belka hiding on the other side of the street behind the bins. Watching the only man who’d shown her any kindness bleed out onto his own floor.

Of course the gang was never found. There was no one looking. What did Windmire care if there was another murder? The news probably didn’t even get that far. If there’s one rule of the streets it’s ‘don’t tattle’. Not unless you want to end up ‘missing’ (as official sources claimed) too.

She’d gone to him, as he lay dying, not caring that the broken glass from the smashed display window was cutting into her bare feet. It…it was the only time she’d actively tried to _prevent_ someone from dying. She’d tried everything but it was far too late.

Magic could only do so much and repair and reflate a punctured lung wasn’t one of them…and who would waste a staff on the father of a lowly baker? In that moment Belka would have. She’d have paid for all the healing staves in Nohr and not cared if she’d had to have worked the rest of her life to pay off the cost. That opportunity lay shattered with the rest of the glass embedded in his chest.

This isn’t how she’d wanted their first meeting, a proper one, to go. She hadn’t wanted to meet at all, lest she became attached. Somewhere during one of those long, lonely nights she had and now she’d payed the price.

She’d held his hand as his blood ran free over the tiles. It was rough and calloused, much like her own. Using the last of his strength, he raised his arm to point at the rows of confectionary abandoned by the gang. She understood; now that the front of the shop was busted it would only be a matter of time before the looters arrived. The shop would collapse either way so better her than someone else.

Their eyes met, like they’d done so many times from afar, now in speaking distance. There were no words. Only the faintest of smiles as he squeezed her hand gently. And then…he was gone. She didn’t know his story or his life…or even his name.

Just another soul lost to the darkness. Belka had squeezed back, not caring if he couldn’t feel it. She’d been there for him while he’d died. People died alone all the time. It didn’t have to be the same for him. The man who was kind to her.

She’d gathered up what bread she could fold into the rags she called clothes and ran. Ran so, so far, not caring there was still glass driving into her feet. The rain would wash away the blood tracks. She’d only stopped once she reached the other side of the slums, her lungs screaming for mercy. She’d never returned. Not to the shop nor that part of town. Never again.

t was then, hiding in a back alley in a discarded box in the pouring rain did she make her vow. She wouldn’t end up like him. She wouldn’t let her kindness be taken advantage of nor be kind at all. She wouldn’t die like he had, because of his weakness. She’d sleep with one eye open so even at night the gangs that patrolled the streets would never get her.

 

* * *

 

 

Thus, she could lie awake for hours upon hours if she wanted to, only to fall asleep a second later. It made night jobs much easier to carry out since she could wait until whole villages had fallen asleep and make sure she never did herself. She had a lot to thank her foster father for…even if she’d had to kill him in the end.

It was only fitting that she fall victim to the same methods she’d been instilled with since she could remember. Only this time she’d be playing both parts: both assassin and victim as one. A fitting end and more than she deserved but it was the only way she could ensure she wouldn’t be disturbed.

Belka slipped silently onto the floor, glad she’d removed her armour before going to bed this time; she never knew when the castle might come under attack so usually went to bed wearing it, as uncomfortable as it was. But tonight had been planned well in advance and she was wearing nothing but her white cotton under garments, making no noise she crept to the door of her room.

For three days she’d been planning this. Over a week it had been when her mistake had nearly cost Lady Camilla her life. She’d waited long enough. Though Camilla has insisted everything was fine and punishment was completely out of the question, Belka knew that if her Mistress wouldn’t punish her then she’d have to do it herself.

What was the saying? A life for a life? She’d seen how large the gash had been in Selena’s armour. The gash in Camilla’s chest. It had simply been luck that Selena had been there to take the hit. Those three inches of sword had nearly been twenty three

Maybe it wasn’t luck after all? Maybe Selena was just better than her? More able to protect Camilla than she’d ever be. Well at least she’d be in good hands after she was gone.

If she’d just been faster…no…there was no time for thoughts like that. No time for dwelling on what once was. She was going to pay for her negligence in the only way she could…by ending her own life. Her negligence had nearly cost Camilla hers so it was only fitting Belka payed the price.

Belka knew she was stretching the definition in Camilla’s eyes but her opinion no longer mattered. Something about protecting her Mistress’s life above all others? Belka liked to think that included her own.

If that rule was broken and her Mistress died (which in fairness she only just escaped from by the purest of luck) then her own life was forfeit. It only made sense. But it was worse than that. Much worse. Any other person she’d might have been sad…but not in the way she was right now. Camilla had always been so nice to her.

Gone out of her way to help someone way below her own social standing. A princess and trash. That was what she was. She was the trash that Camilla had picked up off the street and nursed back into something resembling a person…but no how hard one tries, trash is still trash. Trash didn’t belong at Camilla’s side or even in Castle Nohr. It was time to get rid of it.

Her bare feet making no noise on the plush carpet, Belka made her way down the corridor towards the kitchen. Some people might’ve said the castle looked different at night…scarier perhaps with the usual hustle and bustle gone.

To Belka it was all the same. She could still feel the portraits of nobles and royals that lined the hallways staring at her, even in the gloom. She did her best to ignore them, as she always did but the darkness did nothing to hide their accusatory stares.

_You don’t belong here…_

_Gutter born trash…_

_You disgust us…_

The voices of her betters never ceased. Were they being particularly cruel tonight? Maybe it was because they knew what she was planning to do and didn’t want her backing out. It was fitting none-the-less.

Belka shook her head and continued past them. She knew hearing voices was one of the first signs of insanity…and still the voices came. Maybe it was testament to her true self, the one Camilla didn’t seem to realise still existed? Camilla seemed to think Belka was…good. For all her niceties Camilla was terribly misguided. Had the occasion been any different and she might’ve let another rare smile cross her face but right now there lay only rigid determination. This was no laughing matter.

Still she continued on, pausing only to glare at a portrait whose voice had gotten too loud. She resisted the urge to freeze when she heard footsteps. Footsteps that didn’t belong to her. Belka took stock of her surroundings. She was in the area of the castle reserved for the royal family.

 Normally she didn’t come here unless her Lady Camilla required something so being caught here (and so very early in the morning) wouldn’t be looked upon kindly. She could always pretend she was sleep walking she supposed.

When the footsteps died away, Belka continued. It was probably nothing. The doors to her left and right were the ones of the royal chambers. King Garon slept elsewhere. However, the royal siblings were still here. Xander and Leo to her left. Elise and…Camilla to her right. She paused outside Camilla’s door, almost allowing a pinch of doubt into her mind; she beat it back, knowing what she was doing was for the best. The best for both of them.

Camilla could find a new retainer, one who would look after her better than she had done and she…she would pay for her mistake in the only way she could. Belka never considered herself the sentimental type but even so…standing outside her Mistress’s door in the pitch black, inches away from her…it brought back certain memories. Only this time the one Belka was planning to plunge the knife into wasn’t Camilla…but herself.

“…Forgive me…my Lady,” she murmured. “I know you’d think what I’m going to do is beyond reason but it’s the only way. You’ll understand one day.” She refused to believe that sudden wetness rolling down her cheek had been a single tear.

There must be a problem with ceiling damp. With that, she turned slowly from the door, content that she’d justified herself (even if Camilla was fast asleep). Camilla’s door was close enough to the real thing, she reasoned. Maybe some of her words would leak into her dreams?

_How poetic. More like how pathetic._ Not far now. The royal chambers had their own personal staircase down to the kitchens and dining area. Long ago it had been so that royalty and servants wouldn’t have to mix as often. Social standing and all that. These days, staff and royals mixed so well (King Garon excluded) they were practically part of the family, such was their attitude, but still the stairs remained.

 It was still more convenient than walking all the way around to the other ones. Plus it made it easier for people who didn’t want to be caught to enter the kitchen but that was a very specific use, Belka noted. In fairness she had a very specific need so maybe the fates would turn a blind eye?

Belka didn’t believe in the fates, only personal strength. Relying on fate or using it as your scapegoat when things went wrong was stupid. It wasn’t fated that she missed the sword swing coming towards her Mistress; it was her own weakness. It would’ve been so easy to blame fate for her weakness but deep down she knew…knew it was her own fault, no one else’s.

The stone steps were cold on her feet but Belka didn’t mind. A little more pain to help atone for her failings before death couldn’t hurt anyone…at least anyone who mattered. She daren’t light a lamp to find her way around the gloom in case someone were to see, even in the dead of night.

It payed to be careful. Besides, Belka had a great memory. Since she was in here almost every day as part of her duties she knew the place inside and out, even in the dark. That included the location of the knife drawer.

Belka made her way across the room until she reached it. She knew the drawer itself had a horrible squeak to it if opened too fast so even in her anticipation she held back on yanking it. Though her vision was well adapted to the darkness, she still had to choose a knife by feeling. She ran her fingers along one. Four inches, serrated.

She knew from experience that four inches was more than enough to kill someone but she wanted to make sure she wouldn’t pass out before she died. Too short and she might not do it quickly enough. She tried another. Three inches, blunt. A butter knife.

If she was feeling sadistic she could try (and Niles would probably get a kick out of it when they found her body in the morning) but she was going for efficiency, not pain. Pain would be good too. A painless death would be far more than she deserved.

Another one. Seven inches, sharp. This was better. Belka pulled the knife out of the drawer, running her finger tips idly along its blade. She didn’t even care when the blood started trickling down when she pressed too hard…quite the opposite in fact.

She pressed harder, allowing the bite of the steel into her skin and turn the dribble into a flow. She welcomed the pain. She just stood there, taking it in, making it part of her almost. The blood, the knife, the pain. The story of her life. It made sense to end it this way.

_This is it then. All my life…gone in seconds and emptied all over the floor. Perhaps if things had been different…but they weren’t. They weren’t. Countdowns build tension. If I do then I may become scared and back out. There’s no reason to fear death…at least not for me._

Belka stopped clenching the blade between her fingers. If she lost any more blood than she already had she might not have the strength to…the thought stopped there. She held the blade at arms-length and turned it inward, making sure to angle it upwards enough that she’d miss her ribcage.

Sawing through her own bones to get to her heart wasn’t something she was sure she could do before she would likely lose consciousness from the trauma. One quick thrust should do it. Lady Camilla would be safe again. Safe from her.

_3……2……1……….I…I can’t do this._ Belka straightened up, lowering the knife. _At least not here._ She was still in the kitchen. The place where food was prepared; if her blood spilled out all over the floor there was a chance something could be contaminated.

Ever the realist, Belka knew that even though she had to die, she didn’t want anyone else to suffer because of it. She’d seen enough suffering to last a lifetime. She didn’t know if she was carrying any diseases or anything unknowingly (her toxin resistance playing against her for once) so it was best to play it safe. If everyone else ate the sealed ration packs like she did then it wouldn’t have been an issue but as it stood, they didn’t.

_Plus who would clear up the mess I’d have made? The servants are good people unlike myself. I wouldn’t wish them to have to mop me off of the floor._ She took stock of her surroundings. She could sneak back up to her room and stab herself there but trying to get blood out of those plush carpets would be futile. Plus she didn’t want any evidence to remain after she did die. She just wanted to be cleaned up, disposed of, and forgotten. Stains would stay forever; not what she was after.

Her head swung slowly around to the side door. Perfect. Outside was a gravel path and fields. Both of those were easy to get rid of if they needed to be. Grass could be cut. Gravel could be replaced, like she soon would be by someone newer and better who could actually do their job properly.

Belka gave herself a small nod. Outside would have to do. She made her way across the kitchen, being careful to avoid the cleaning equipment someone had left out. That same equipment wouldn’t be needed now. That was something.

The door was inches away now. Her hand went to the handle, taking in its cool, smooth texture. She pressed down but recoiled when she heard a noise. It wasn’t the handle; she’d used it enough times to know it was relatively silent. Something else had made the noise. Belka stopped and listened. There it was again, closer this time. Footsteps.

Somebody really did have the worst timing. Belka initially suspected Selena what with her track record but she hoped it wasn’t. She hoped it wasn’t anyone at all and she was just hearing things. The dull thuds of footsteps were hard to mistake for anything else, though, so Belka was on edge. She never panicked in these high risk situations but it still wasn’t ideal. How was she going to explain herself?

_Hey I was just about to commit suicide but sure I’ve got time to chat._ Belka resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Like that was going to work. She hid the knife behind her back. No. Too obvious. She tucked the knife into the top of her cotton pants. Better. It was just as well because the owner of the footsteps was nearly upon her.

 Belka turned to face the stone steps that led down to the kitchen, the flicker of candlelight around the spiral giving away their position. Once the owner of the footsteps became clear, Belka finally allowed herself an eye roll. Of all the people…maybe the fates really did exist?

“Belka? Is that you?”

_Of all the people…it would be her._ Camilla stood at the bottom of the steps, dressed in much the same way as Belka was, except wearing a pair of cotton slippers to match her undergarments.

Belka was mildly surprised she wasn’t trying to balance the candle between her breasts or something equally ridiculous, such was their size. It just went to show she had some sense, though who she employed was apparently not one of them.

“Yes Mistress.”

“What are you doing down here at this ungodly hour…and in the complete darkness?”

“I…could ask you the same question.”

“I brought a candle to see what I’m doing.”

“Old habits. I work better in the dark.”

“And your work would be…what exactly?”

“I was…” Belka paused for a second, trying to find a plausible explanation. “I was…just checking the security here.” She gave the door handle a turn. “But it seems to be secure in here.”

“Or…” Camilla said, taking a step closer. “You could tell me the truth.”

“You first.” She shrugged.

“I came down for a glass of water,” she said, doing her best to stifle a yawn (but not really succeeding), and held up the glass in her hand that wasn’t preoccupied with holding the candle. “I don’t think you’re here for the same reason so…what is it?”

“I told you…security reasons,” Belka tried. Camilla raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing her. Another step taken forward (and an imperceptible one taken back on Belka’s part).  

“Is that really the truth? If you’re down here to steal food then I won’t be mad.”

“You know I only eat the ration packs.”

“A few months of eating those day in, day out would drive anyone crazy. Who can blame you for sneaking down for some actual food once in a while?”

“I…was just checking the windows for breaches.”

“My, my, you’re insistent aren’t you?”

“For good reason, Lady Camilla,” she reasoned. “You’re safety is my highest priority. The kitchen is close enough to your sleeping quarters to pose a significant threat if it was breached.”

“Well you would know.”

“Don’t remind me.” The kitchen had been the way Belka had entered the castle the first time…the time she came to kill her Mistress. “If I got in to the castle this way then someone else could. I had to check.”

“Hmm…” Camilla considered the notion. A small nod of approval was all Belka needed to see; she’d convinced her. “That does make sense. You do look pretty suspicious though. Are you sure that’s everything.”

“I’m sure,” Belka answered, silently willing Camilla away. Goodbye was supposed to have been yesterday, not at 1 o’clock in the morning.

“If you’re sure.” Belka nodded. “Well then…see you tomorrow.” Camilla turned, yawning properly this time and made her way back to the steps.

 “Yes Mistress,” Belka muttered, knowing full well the lie she was telling. Her hand went back to the door handle instinctively. Once Camilla had gone everything would be back on track. Then she’d finally be able to…

“Oh I almost forgot!” Belka turned to see Camilla making her way back towards her. Belka’s hand tightened around the handle. Had her Mistress caught on? Would she have to run for it? The knife felt ever so heavy tucked into her shorts like that, as if to remind her of her purpose…her duty even.

“Yes, my Lady?” Camilla waved her glass in front of Belka’s face.

“I nearly forgot the reason I came down here in the first place. Silly me.”

“Yes…silly you.” She eyed up the sink. It was _perilously_ close to the knife drawer. If Camilla opened it…no. What were the odds? What reason did she have for doing that? There was no way she would…

“Aaand done.” Camilla turned back from the sink, apparently having filled her glass during Belka’s semi-panic. Belka fought the urge to wipe her brow; that had been too close (however unlikely). She watched her make her way back across the room, hopefully for the last time, lilac hair bouncing softly over her shoulders.

Belka turned away slightly, concentrating on getting the door open but an odd sound stopped her. It was a sharp one, punctuating and invading the darkness with its tones. It was the sound of breaking glass. Belka turned sharply towards the source of the noise.

Camilla’s glass lay shattered over the majority of the kitchen floor but it lay forgotten; Camilla seemed far more interested in the _other_ thing that was spread over the floor. The thing that she had just noticed she was standing in. Blood. Belka’s blood.

Belka swore under her breath. Her excitement from clenching the knife earlier had left quite the impact and in her haste to get outside to finish the deed she’d forgotten to wipe up. The evidence she’d been trying so hard to hide was spilled out all over the floor for anyone to see…specifically Camilla; if fate had suddenly decide to make itself known to Belka it was doing a particularly cruel job of it.

The phrase ‘they stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity’ didn’t really fit into Belka’s usual way of thinking but in this case she deigned to make an exception. Camilla stayed frozen in place with her back to her for several excruciating seconds, slowly watching the blood she’d stepped in seep into her cotton slippers. Belka started to turn the door handle slowly. If worse came to worse then she’d just have to make a run for it.

“B-Belka…there’s blood on the floor.” Camilla’s voice was small, like she couldn’t quite believe what she was saying.

“Is there?”

“Why is there blood on the floor? And why is there so much of it?”

“…Mice,” she tried, weakly. Camilla turned slowly to face her, her eyes not meeting Belka’s but instead following the trail of blood. Belka sighed slightly, like it was merely a minor inconvenience when she realised it led straight to her.

Of course it did (it was _hers_ after all). Camilla hadn’t noticed yet, her eyes still adjusting to the dark. She quickly hid her still bleeding hand behind her back, not trusting the darkness to obscure it anymore.

“Now i-isn’t the time t-to get a sense of humor!”

“I’m being serious.”

“Mice? Mice? Belka do you honestly expect me to believe this was mice?”

“…Yes.” Camilla took a step forward, closing the distance between the two (a lot more than Belka felt comfortable with in the current situation). Belka also noted that Camilla’s slippers had left bloodied prints onto the stonework. It looked like someone would be using the cleaning equipment after all.

“We both k-know that isn’t true. Why are you really down here?” Belka ran through her options hastily in her head. Admitting the truth was out of the question unless absolutely necessary. She could try bluffing but…Camilla was already dangerously close to her. Any further forward and she might notice her missing hand.

“I…had a nose bleed.”

“Did you bleed out an entire litre and then miss the sink? Just…please. Tell me what’s going on.” Belka could tell Camilla was close to losing it, either out of frustration or genuine fear. Her posture was rigid liked she’d been hit by a thunder spell but her eyes…those striking violet eyes pierced her even through the gloom…and they were filled with fear. It almost touched her to know Camilla cared about her but that was why she was doing what she was doing. It had to end.

“Do you want the truth?”

“Yes! What the hell did you do in here?”

“I…” Camilla leaned in expectantly, her eyes wide. “I…got my period. I felt it coming so I came down here to find some towels but I wasn’t quick enough and it got all over the floor. Forgive me.”

“…”

“…”

“…That’s total bullshit.”

“My Lady?” The hand behind Belka’s back found the knife’s hilt, pulling it out of its makeshift sheath imperceptibly.

“Stop playing games with me!” Camilla hissed, causing her retainer to recoil slightly. “Why are you lying to me? What could be so bad that you can’t tell me?!”

“I…”

“Please…I want to understand. Let me understand…please?” It was more of a question that a statement but Belka couldn’t bring herself to answer, her hand instead tightening around the knife.

“…”

“Please…” Belka could’ve sworn she heard her voice crack slightly but dismissed it. It didn’t matter.

“I…”

“…”

“…”

“Why won’t you tell me?” It was then that Camilla made a mistake that would prove to be fatal for both of them: she took another step forward, effectively closing the gap between her and Belka.

_Too close!_ The assassin’s mind went into automatic and whipped out the knife and pressed the flat of the blade against her mistress’s neck.

“Belka what the………hell?” Where the first part of her sentence had been a mixture of surprise and terror, it tailed off slowly, being replaced with what Belka could only describe as sickened curiosity. Camilla had lost interest in the blade, instead taking an interest in the hand holding it. Belka, unsure of what she was staring at, followed her gaze.

 Once she realised what Camilla had seen (or rather had pieced together) she froze in place. In her haste to prevent Camilla from getting any closer she’d exposed the very thing she’d been trying to keep secret; her bloodied, still dripping, hand was the one holding the knife. Camilla could see it. Belka could see it. They both knew the other could see it.

“You…t-this…y-you………it’s yours. All this blood…you did this…….to y-yourself.”

“…That is correct.”

“…”

“…”

“…Why? Why is this ‘correct’?”

“…”

“Answer me, Beruka!” Belka flinched, but didn’t withdraw the knife from Camilla’s neck. Camilla _never_ called her by her real name. Never ever.

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Why not? You used to always try to correct me whenever I got it wrong. I thought you didn’t like ‘Belka’.

“I didn’t,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “For the longest time I didn’t. But that’s why I like you, Lady Camilla. Beruka was the name of the assassin’s daughter. Belka was the name of your retainer who loved and served you. You made me feel as if I belonged. As if I had a true home.”

“You still do!” Camilla corrected hoarsely. “Beruka…I know you think I don’t care or that I do things without thinking but your name wasn’t one of them. I gave you that name because…look just stop this! Whatever it is you’re doing just stop!” Belka shook her head, ignoring Camilla as best she could.

“I’m doing this for your benefit, my Lady.”

“How?!” Camilla gestured wildly to the rest of the kitchen, to the knife (not caring it was still digging into her neck), and then to the pools of blood that adorned the floor. “How is this helpful?! How is this okay?!”

“Everything I do…I do for you. Do you really not see?”

“No!”

“Then I’ll tell you. I wasn’t planning to, or have you witness any of this for that matter, but perhaps your understanding will give me piece of mind enough to follow this through to the end.” Camilla remained silent, her eyes giving away she really didn’t want to find out what ‘the end’ was. “You nearly died, my Lady.

“…Is this…about what happened a few days ago?”

“Yes. My negligence in my duties nearly cost you your life. The only reason you’re still alive is that Selena was quicker than me. She took the hit. I saw the slice taken out of her shield. Even then it wasn’t enough. It was pure luck you survived.

“…B-but…” Camilla seemed to struggle with the words. “How is this…how will this…?”

“Change anything?” Belka shook her head slowly. “My terrible negligence of you cannot be changed and nor can it be forgiven but it can be…in a way…atone.”

“What?! I forgave you!” Camilla was bordering on the hysterical now. She had to end this quickly or she was going to wake someone. “Bleeding all over the floor in the middle of the night won’t change anything!”

“It’s what comes after that, Lady Camilla.” Even in the dark, Camilla’s eyes widening even further was plain as day. She’d made the connection.

“Beruka,” she said shakily. “…Give me that knife.”

“No.”

“Please j-just…put it down.”

“No. I refuse.”

“Just think!”

“I have. I’ve made my choice.”

“To die?! I don’t want you to die because of some…delusion of misconduct!”

“It is no longer within your capabilities to stop me.”

“I order you to stop this!”

“…You can’t. Not anymore.”

“I’m…I’m your liege. And you are my retainer. You have to obey me!” Beruka shook her head for a second time.

“None of that is true anymore. I voided our contract. I can do as I please.”

“To what?! Die alone in the dark in our kitchen?!”

“…Yes.” If she revealed to Camilla she actually intended to go outside then she’d no doubt block her escape route. “I…” For the first time it was Belka who struggled to find the correct words. “I swore to protect you. To serve you above all else and to make you happy in any way that I could.”

“…You _have_.”  Belka wasn’t finished.

“If you wanted to spar, I would oblige. If your wyvern fell in battle then I’d offer my own. If the enemy were deal a killing blow against you…I would throw myself in the way and take it for you.”

“…Beruka.”

“But it didn’t happen like that. I wanted to but I was too slow and…you nearly died.”

“But I didn’t,” Camilla explained, clearly exasperated. “I’m fine.”

“You shouldn’t have been. I should’ve been quicker and taken the blow for you. It was only luck you’re still alive. It…it shouldn’t have come to that.”

“It did and there isn’t anything we can do about it. Either way I don’t care!” Camilla pushed the flat of the knife away from her neck. “Killing yourself because of what might’ve been makes no sense!”

“…You’re right.”

“Then…then you’ll stop this?”

“No.” The tiny spark of hope present on Camilla’s features was snuffed out.

“W-wha…?”

“I was only agreeing with the first part of your statement. There is nothing ‘we’ can do about it but…there is something _I_ can do about it.”

“…”

“If I die then you’ll have to find a new retainer. One who will protect you better than I ever could and will treat you right and…make you happy.”

“You…you make me happy.” It came out as barely a whisper but both of them heard it as clear as day.

“Now isn’t the time for one of your jokes, Lady Camilla.”

“What do you mean?”

“All those things you do for me. All those…things. The greetings from across the hall, the hugs, the inviting into your private quarters for one excuse or another. Now that my time here is up I would like to know…why you did all that?”

“…What?”

“The teasing, the offers of activities together. You know full well I don’t have any dresses so why you would…whatever. Clearly I was just a joke to you.”

“…”

“…But I didn’t care,” she continued. “I swore to serve you in any way so I did. Even if it meant strange rituals like ‘brushing our hair’ together. Your happiness was my happiness.”

“If you die…I w-won’t be very happy.” The moonlight was starting to make Camilla’s cheeks shimmer slightly and Belka realised she’d started to cry. Too attached for her own good. “You’re very, very, dear to me. I don’t want you to die. Not now…not ever.”

“It doesn’t matter. Your safety comes first and clearly I have failed at that. It is time.” In the dark of the night Camilla was barely able to catch Belka’s wrist before the knife got any further. It had already sliced the fabric of her undershirt.

Any further and…she felt utterly sickened. This couldn’t be happening. Stoic, solid Belka who’d been a pillar of hope for the longest time now…was trying to commit suicide…for her.

“Just…just stop this! I don’t want another retainer damn it! I want…I want you! Alive and safe.” She trailed off. Belka hadn’t moved.

“If I’m alive then your safety is compromi…”

“I don’t care! That isn’t even true. I trust you with my life, Beruka! What happened a few days ago hasn’t changed that.”

“It hasn’t…?”

“No of course not! I still care about you so, so much. More than I’d like to admit.” Belka’s grip on the knife tightened, forcing Camilla to pull back harder.

“Just as I thought. Your feelings have clouded your judgment. Though why…”

“Why what?”

“I…it isn’t possible. It’s another one of your tricks to make me stop this. I cannot believe you genuinely care about me as a person. Only an object.”

“…Did I really give that impression?”

“Yes. All that teasing and trying to make uncomfortable. I put up with it because I knew it made you happy.”

“………Oh gods. I-is that how you saw it? Is that how I treated you?”

“It is irrelevant now.” Belka’s pull on the knife was reaching dangerous levels now and Camilla had to pull back with all her might to stop it driving into her stomach; any slip now and she’d be sliced open. Though Camilla was taller by quite a way, Belka’s strength was something to be reckoned with.

“Your life isn’t irrelevant! Not to me and not to anyone.”

“You don’t have to lie now. I know how worthless I’ve been. Both as a protector and as a person.” She sighed. “But…at least you gave the impression you cared, even if it was all a lie. No one else even pretended.”

“I wasn’t pretending damn it! I…I care about you a lot more than you could ever know.”

“Please. It was like I was your pet, my Lady. Some animal to lavish your attention on, however unwarranted, instead of an actual person. Still…it made you happy and that I was glad for.”

“Beruka…”

“Stop calling me that.”

“No. J-just…stop this. Come back to bed with me.”

“Even now you’re still making jokes.”

“I…I didn’t mean it like that!” Camilla was too tense to blush but the feeling behind it was there. “I just want you safe!” The pressure on the knife handle increased for a split second, Camilla wondering, horrified, if she was too late. And then…it dropped. The knife fell to the floor in a clatter not dissimilar to the glass from earlier.

“…That is something we can both agree on. I’m glad of that.”

“…”

“I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me.”

“Wha…?” Before Camilla could react she could feel Belka’s lips pressing up against her own. For someone with such calloused hands they were unbelievably soft. The kiss was gentle, simple, and not at all concordant with the tenseness of the moments before. Camilla was suitably stunned.

Of her retainers she’d always thought Selena would’ve been the one to try. Not because she displayed any real preference for women but because this was _Belka_ she was talking about.

She was so shocked that she didn’t even realise she was falling backwards until her head connected with the back of the stovetop. Belka had pushed her. Stars exploded in front of Camilla’s eyes. She could just make out Belka swipe the knife off the floor in front of her.

_Oh no…_

Though she was dizzy from the impact, she scrambled to her feet and tried to follow Belka out through the door she’d left by. Hitting her head on the frame, she could just make out her shadowy figure in front of her. The moonlight was so bright tonight. Now she was seeing stars in more ways than one.

She could hear her voice, calling out to Belka. Screaming for her to stop. It didn’t work. If anything Belka increased her speed, forcing Camilla (still in her slippers) to work harder. Though she was quick, Camilla had desperation on her side and caught Belka’s leg, sending them both tumbling onto the gravel below.

“Just let me…!” She didn’t even get to finish her sentence. Belka had already plunged the knife into her abdomen.

“…Too…late.” Camilla yanked the knife out of the assassin’s rapidly weakening grip, tossing it away. No matter how much pressure she applied the blood still came. There was so much now. So, so much pouring over the grass and gravel, like some sickening modern art piece. “Turn away…don’t look at me.” Camilla shook her head swiftly, not caring she was dropping tears everywhere.

“Stay with me…please.” She placed a hand under the back of Belka’s head, tilting it up so their eyes could meet. She wished she hadn’t. It wasn’t just the blood draining out of her, it was life. Her eyes, usually so sharp and focused were fogging over.

“My final mission…is complete. My duty…is done. I’ve…” She paused to cough, a ragged gasp for air. Now there was even more blood. “I’ve saved you…from me.”

“And you’ve condemned me. What am I supposed to do without you?”

“We’ve…been over this.” The tears were mixing with the blood now, creating a small river flowing away from the body in front of her.

“I don’t care if you think I need somebody else. That’s not true. Even if it was… I don’t _want_ anyone else. You were perfect. You _are_ perfect.”

“No I…” Another cough, this time brown with the contents of her stomach. “I…I’m not.”

“You were perfect for me. I…I took you for granted. All those passing ‘thank you’s ’ without ever meaning it…and now I’ve paid for it. Or…you’ve paid for it for me.”

“As it should be.”

“No!” Camilla continued to cradle her head. “This was my fault. If I’d just…” she sighed. “I lo…” Belka had closed her eyes, her breathing slowing right down. She was…

Camilla would be found several minutes later by nearly half the castle, screaming for a healer. Belka’s last thought was how, in the end, she’d ended up like the old man after all. Alone, dying, being comforted by who barely knew her. It was better that way. No more attachments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry.
> 
> The real question is, is this really the ending? Do you want it to be? Or is the real question what was the purpose of the kiss? Purely functional? Something else? Something more?
> 
> This chapter was extra long because I wanted to do this justice. The characters, the ideas, the atmosphere. Can't rush it. I took some liberties with Beruka's backstory but kept it in line with cannon (e.g. mentioning bean soup was one of the rare acts of kindness she experienced).
> 
> I'm sorry.


	4. 4a: A normal day once more

_It’s dark outside. Or inside. I can’t tell. It’s just dark. Is this what death is? Is this what I’ve condemned my victims to? An eternity of nothing. My time is long overdue. It hurts. Good. So why am I not dead yet?_

_But…wait…no…please no…just let me die. What is this…power…I can feel? My energy…I can feel it returning. It still hurts so much but I still won’t die. That isn’t fair. Lady Camilla deserves that much of me._

_Am I so useless at everything that I can’t even kill myself correctly? I’m sure I punctured the lung. It was a good 5 inches before I got too weak to push anymore. There isn’t a way I could’ve survived. Gods and Fates above…please don’t let me live. For Camilla’s sake…don’t let me live._

Belka slowly opened her eyes. There was daylight streaming in through the window. Though the curtains were closed it was clearly early afternoon. Many hours must have passed since the night.

She swivelled her eyes downward. She was in bed. A nice bed. Very nice in fact. A double bed with the most ornate woodwork she’d ever set eyes upon. It seemed familiar. The sheets were taut and crisp, the covers draped over her a deep purple. It matched the rest of the room.

The curtains, the drapes over the four posts of the double bed, the wallpaper. All varying hues of lilac. Even the carpet. It looked so unbelievably plush Belka could barely stop herself. The pain did. Shifting even the slightest amount sent searing flames into her chest. Her lungs, her stomach and pretty much everything else protested her attempt to get up.

Belka lifted up the duvet as best she could. The pins and needles in her arm from doing so was the least of her concern. She didn’t wince, having seen injuries much the same in her profession but still…seeing them on herself was a new experience. She wore no top, just bandages. Her hand was likewise covered in them. So much for pins and needles.

For whatever reason they hadn’t been soaked by her blood escaping already but that was good. No sense in staining the ever so expensive sheets. Her cotton shorts were gone too, replaced by a similar variant though Belka knew they weren’t her own. Too soft. Her feet remained bare.

She let herself flop down. Not just from the immediate exhaustion but from the rather obvious realisation at whose room she was in. The person in question was also present, staring at her softly from her seat at the foot of the bed.

“Why am I still alive, Lady Camilla?” The woman in question said nothing. She simply stood up and walked over to where Belka lay and knelt down.

“…” As lightly as she could, Camilla draped her arms over Belka’s laying form and brought her into the closest thing to a hug she could do without harming her. And then she promptly burst in tears.

Belka didn’t have any words for that. Not because she was acting cold like she would’ve done in the past but because she actually didn’t know how to respond. No one had even come close to crying over her before. What did people do in these situations? What did normal people do?

Snapping herself out of her daze, Belka returned her liege’s gesture by wrapping her arms around Camilla’s back. It was slightly awkward given her position but it was the best she could do. Camilla was warm. Very much so.

All those times where Camilla had brought her in for a hug…all those teasings and cheesy lines…Belka’s half-hearted attempts at returning them…all those doubts melted away along with her reservations. This…this was a real, non-flirty hug. A proper one. Something where her liege hadn’t just been trying to get a reaction out of her.

Camilla was crying because she _cared_. Belka didn’t understand why she did but she did. Belka didn’t know how she felt about that. She continued to awkwardly hug back all the same, part of her wishing Camilla would get up, walk away and pretend it hadn’t happened, but also secretly wishing it wouldn’t end. Just her, Lady Camilla, like this…forever. It was selfish and inappropriate but Belka couldn’t stop herself.

Whether it was the pain and exhaustion coupled with the unexpected gesture of affection or her resolve finally breaking, she didn’t know. What Belka did know, however, was in that particular moment, suspended in time forever, was that she no longer wished to die.

Then the moment passed. They always did. Camilla got off her but didn’t her tears didn’t stop. Instead, she knelt down and Belka’s side, her head now in line with her own atop the pillows.

“Tell me why you did it…tried to…wanted to…?” She couldn’t even finish the sentence. Contrary to the situation, Belka almost felt sorry for her liege.

Now that Camilla was kneeling, Belka could look down at her from her positon atop the bed. It was…a strange feeling. Belka had always known Camilla had a softer side but this…this was something else. She was kneeling before her, tears in her eyes, head lowered. This was…it didn’t matter.

“I still _want_ to, not _wanted_ to,” she clarified hesitantly. “Actually it is more of a need.”

“A need to what?”

“To die,” Belka clarified. Camilla sobbed louder. “You’ve already seen me plunge the knife, Lady Camilla. There’s no need to deny anything.”

“…I guess that’s true.” Camilla straightened up, wiping away some of her tears. It was a decent trick but Belka knew she wasn’t feeling any more composed than before, regardless of posture. Now that she looked closer, Camilla had considerable bags under her eyes. Just how long had she been watching her? “Now that you’re conscious if I leave the room will you…?” Again, not finishing her sentences.

“Will I attempt to kill myself again?” Camilla nodded. Belka shrugged as best she could without sending another pain through her abdomen. “I’m not going to lie to you anymore.”

“That’s good.”

“But the second you walk out that door… ,” Belka gestured to the single door behind them. Camilla looked back, clearly considering locking it. “…then I’ll just try again with whatever is to hand.”

“Then you’ll be disappointed to know I took the liberty of personally removing everything and anything sharp from here,” Camilla said stiffly. Belka said nothing for a moment.

“…Why do you want me alive so badly?”

“…What?”

“Is it so you can put me on trial? For everything I’ve done? So King Garon can personally execute me?”

“…I haven’t seen Father in weeks. No one has. He’s been in the throne room alone. Not even Iago has been able to find out why.”

“So…”

“I honestly don’t think Father even remembers you. If you died he wouldn’t notice.”

“…”

“But I would.” Camilla continued, digging her nails into the sheets slightly. “That’s why you’re still alive…because I want you to be.”

“Even after all I did?”

“Especially after everything you did. Beruka, I never realised…”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t call me that.” Camilla let out a dry laugh.

“Why not? It is your real name after all. You professed as much back when we first met.”

“Yes…yes I did. I admit that. But you insisted on calling me something different. A ‘nickname’ I believe you call it. You took away my identity.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Belka said, cutting her off. “In a sense you did take something away from me but you also gave something in return. Beruka was the daughter of an assassin, a murderer of hundreds. Belka, the name you gave me, became someone with new purpose. To protect and serve you. I like that person better. At least I did.” Belka averted her eyes. “I believe I’ve the lost right to be called that now. Maybe you’re right to call me Beruka?”

“I think I am.” Camilla slowly tilted Belka’s head back towards her. “But not for those reasons. You’ve done nothing wrong. I…I was the one at fault.”

“My Lady?”

“I took away what you were you were right about that. Despite what you say I wasn’t right to rename you. That wasn’t what I should’ve done. I tried to force a new life onto you when I should’ve been working on improving the one you already had all along. I should’ve helped you, Beruka, not tried to hide you away under a layer of my desires.”

“But I accepted it.”

“Because I was relentless. I remember back before when you would always correct me and others who called you Belka. You’d get annoyed at me. Then one day it was gone. You stopped complaining.”

“It was getting in the way of my work,” Belka justified but Camilla held up a hand to stop her.

“No. I-I tried to bend and fashion you into my ideals. A loyal, obedient retainer who adored me. That’s not who you are.”

“Then why am I trying so hard to kill myself for you?”

“Because…”Camilla stopped. “Because you’re wrong. Despite my failures in the past I’m going to make it up to you. No more petting or stroking your hair and hugging. I agree with what you said. I treated you like a pet, not a person. That stops now. I’ll treat you with the decency you deserve.”

“…If that’s what you want.”

“What do you want, Beruka?”

“…” Beruka sighed. “I…I just want you to be safe, my Lady. And happy like I can never be.”

“…I want that for you too, you know. I want you to be safe and happy.”

“…How long did you say King Garon hasn’t been seen for?” Camilla looked momentarily perturbed.

“I thought we were finally making progress.” She sighed, sitting back up on the bedsheets. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I saw him only a few days ago, walking about the castle,” Beruka answered. “How can it have been weeks that he’s been gone?”

“…”

“Lady Camilla, how long was I out for?”

“Two weeks and three days.”

“…I see. I thought a day at most.”

“…”

“…”

“…Beruka you lost so much blood,” Camilla sobbed, tears returning in full force. “We used up four entire healing staffs just to keep you alive. How you survived at all is beyond anyone’s guess.”

“I see. Who is ‘anyone’? How many other people know?”

“I’ve tried to keep it quiet but inevitably there have been whispers. Leo and his retainers. Xander and his. I’ve kept Elise away from all this but Effie and Arthur both know. They all send their best wishes. Selena’s been watching over you when I’ve been called away.”

“…”

“…And Father definitely doesn’t know. He’d likely have me publically executed for wasting so many castle resources on ‘filth’ like you.” Camilla sighed again, pausing to wipe the seemingly never ending flow trying to escape her eyes. “These days the only ones he seems to care about is himself and Corrin.”

“…”

“…But you’re not a waste. Not to me.”

“You’re wrong. You shouldn’t have used all of those to save me.” Camilla looked her dead in the eye.

“Beruka I was prepared to use a _Bifrost_ staff on you,” she whispered leaning in so that no one could hear, despite the two of them being alone. Such was the seriousness of her tone. “Do you know how much one of those costs?”

“…A lot.”

“Exactly. They’re incredibly difficult to make and even fewer people know how to wield them but still I’d have gotten one somehow if I’d had to. Beruka listen to me…there’s no length I wouldn’t go to for you.” Beruka resisted the urge to lean into Camilla’s ever encroaching face.

“I…”

“Beruka I’d scale the mountains of Notre Sagasse if I had to! I’d…I’d fight my way through the Sevenfold Sanctuary single-handedly and find the Rainbow Sage if I had to. You mean so so much to me!”

“But…why? What exactly have I done that makes you so…enamoured with me?” Camilla sprang back a little but quickly returned once she saw that jolting the bed had made Beruka wince.

“E-Enamoured? What an active imagination you possess, my dear retainer,” Camilla said, smilingly lightly. “Perhaps being out for so long has changed you?”

“…You haven’t changed at all my Lady.”

“I suppose I haven’t.”

“…I’m serious. I know I’m not the first retainer you’ve had and Selena does all the same things I do. What sets me apart?”

“Does it matter what I think?”

“No one just volunteers to go and seek out the Rainbow Sage based on a whim, my Lady.”

“…”

“…”

“You’ve been deprived of love for so long,” she said softly. “I just want…I want you to feel loved.”

“…”

“And I don’t mean like a pet. You’re not something for me to lavish attention on to make myself feel better. Everyone should love you, Beruka…and I do…so very much.” Beruka studied her liege carefully. This wasn’t like normal. She wasn’t teasing or joking around. The tears that had begun to well up were a good enough indication of that. Her chest was beginning to hurt again. It wasn’t the same as the pain of knife; Beruka distinguished it by a more empty feeling, rather than actual pain. She didn’t know what it was and certainly didn’t like it.

“Don’t cry over me. I’m not worth it.” Camilla let out a dry laugh.

“I should think my caring should be fairly evident at this point.” She wiped at her eyes messily, in turn wiping her hand on the purple sheets. “And I’ve cried rivers for you, you know.” Another wipe. “I believe I mentioned you’ve been unconscious and near death for weeks?”

“You mentioned.”

“…”

“…”

“…What do you want me to say, Beruka?”

“I…I don’t know. I…” She moved to prop herself up again only to collapse once more. “I hurt all over.”

“I can go. Leave you to recover. Sleep maybe.”

“No.” Beruka noted she’d said that a little too quickly for her liking. Was probably the pain talking, nothing else. “While my wounds are severe I’m not talking about them. It’s…a different kind.”

“A different kind?”

“Yes. I feel….strange. I feel empty somehow.”

“…”

“But you, Lady Camilla, hold it back slightly. When you’re with me.” Camilla’s expression softened.

“Would you like me stay then?”

“I would, yes. Just for now.”

\---

 Beruka woke up for the second time. Night time again. Gods she was so exhausted. Looking down put a sleeping princess Camilla into her field of view, still half kneeling/half draped over the side of the bed and framed by moonlight. It didn’t look particularly comfortable but she’d fallen asleep none the less. That actually raised an interesting point.

Beruka had been sleeping here in Camilla’s room ever since her…attempt, so where had Camilla been sleeping? Beruka scanned the room. There were no obvious signs of bedding anywhere on the beautifully plush floor. Looking next to her on the purple sheets raised the possibility that Camilla had simply slept next to her; the bed was certainly big enough, being a double bed. She was certainly protective enough to do so and after her attempt she’d almost certainly want to keep an eye on her at all times. So that she didn’t try again.

Beruka took the greatest of efforts and lifted her free hand above the duvet. Camilla was lightly grasping her other one as she slept and she saw no reason to wake her. Not for what she wanted anyway. Luckily her free one was the bandaged one…the one where she’d gripped the blade so hard it had cut in to her. The pins and needles hadn’t gone away. Perhaps it never would.

She studied the back of her hand carefully, wincing as her muscles protested to her flipping it over so her palm was up. Exhaustion and tiredness didn’t equate. She knew from experience and had slept enough already. Beruka had had enough scars in her day to know which ones would heal and which ones wouldn’t. She wasn’t really one for appearances but it was somewhat fortunate none of her permanent ones had taken residence on her face or open skin. Blending in with a target was harder is you stood out like that. The same couldn’t be said for the rest of her body.

Scars, burns, blemishes, and the like littered her. Her back. Her sides. Her legs and feet. The slums weren’t kind. She still had a small mark where a barbed arrow had notched into her thigh. Now that she thought about it that was one of Niles’s hallmarks, so people would suffer more. She’d have to ask him if they’d ever met there. She digressed. Her hand was the first scar she had that would be permanently visible for all to see. She could easily wear gloves. However as cold and unfeeling as she was, touch was an important asset to an assassin.

Beruka stared blankly out of the window and into the illuminated courtyard below. Could she even claim to be cold and unfeeling anymore? She’d certainly felt something when she found out where her mother was buried. Doubly so when she’d gone with Niles so he could see his own. That feeling she’d felt earlier was something too. She didn’t know what or why, only that Camilla had been the one to cause it.

She’d done everything she’d for Camilla because she cared for her, even trying to make the ultimate sacrifice in her name. She eyed the darkened room. The purples were almost black now. Beruka sighed. This wasn’t what she’d wanted. Not at all. Instead she was safe and recovering in a royal’s chambers with said royal sprawled out, half on, half off her own bed. It just wasn’t right.

The real question was did she still want to die? Ask her earlier, as Camilla did, and it would’ve been a no hesitation ‘yes’. Now she was a little less sure. Not much mind you. An overwhelming guilt still plagued Beruka’s mind, doubly more so now that she’d failed in her retribution.

Camilla was still asleep, she reasoned, and a much heavier sleeper than Beruka herself at that. She hadn’t heard of any guards outside her room and likely weren’t any so as not to make the king suspicious. She could leave right now and try again if she could endure the pain. Pain of walking, pain of moving her joints, pain of hauling herself out of…the list went on. Right now pain of _existing_ was very much the baseline.

Beruka snuggled back into the downy pillows. She could try again after she’d regained her strength. No sense in getting caught while she couldn’t move freely, both with Camilla holding her hand and her body hating her now. She stole a look down through the dark to Camilla’s hand. So perfect compared to hers…and yet. The back of her hand did have its defects. Small, barely perceptible ones. Beruka knew nothing of Camilla’s upbringing but had heard from idle servants’ talk that it had been rough for all the royal children. Faint scars, blemishes here and there were evident on her liege’s otherwise almost china like hand. Beruka had always assumed Camilla didn’t know what she was talking about when she said she ‘understood her pain’. Just trying to relate without feeling. Had she been unfair in her judgement? Was princess Camilla more like herself than she’d like to admit? Maybe. It didn’t change a whole lot.

Camilla stirred in her sleep, squeezing the hand she held ever so gently. Beruka wanted to take her hand away dearly but seeing her mistress like this…she supposed she could just let it happen a while longer. No harm in that. She could almost get used to it in fact. It was soft and warm, much like the new feeling she’d experienced. More than she deserved but she’d be lying if she said at least on some level she wasn’t enjoying it.

Maybe she’d even postpone her attempt for another day after that. And another after that. The bed was _ever_ so warm and inviting. Beruka sleepily buried the thought that somehow she could make it up to Camilla another way. One that didn’t require her flesh in pieces. It might take the rest of her life but it was possible.

The road to recovery might be long or there might not be a road to recovery at all. Either way she’d be along for the ride.

Beruka closed her eyes once more, a woman with long flowing hair, smelling of lavender, guiding her gently to her sleep. The rest of her life began one day at a time, just like anyone else’s.

One day at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dearest apologies for the abscence. I was debating just leaving this fic as it was because I really liked the darker ending but I came to the conclusion I could have both (thanks to whoever it was on FF.net who prompted me the name escapes me sorry).
> 
> What I mean is that there are actually two chapter 4's: One where Beruka succeeds in her plan and one where she fails. Consider them two different versions of the events or two different timelines if you will. This was the one where she failed and survived.
> 
> Chapter 4b, which I hope will be up shortly, will show what would happen if she succeeded and died. I liked both versions too much to choose so I leave the true version of events up to you ;)


	5. 4b: The mask of a normal day

Camilla wished it was raining.

She really, really did. Not least because that way she could blame the droplets adorning her face for something other than tears. It wasn’t that. The princess looked up at the sky, tearing eyes away from the grave below her, finding it completely clear. Not a cloud to be seen. There was even a light breeze. It just didn’t seem right or even fair that on the worst day of her life, the saddest day by far, that the sun was shining. The sun _never_ shone in Nohr. It just wasn’t an occurrence be it regular or otherwise.

No…Camilla wanted it to rain. To not only rain but pour down. To soak and saturate the earth to wash it all away until nothing was left anymore and for the harshest of winds to rip away what remained. To have everything, including her memories of here taken somewhere far, far away. Instead it was fine. Another normal day.

Beruka was dead. She had to keep telling herself that. She was dead and gone and lay only several feet away under the earth. Though her father would never allow it if he found out, Camilla had secretly fashioned her own gravestone for her former retainer. Someone born into an unremarkable life in the slums deserved to have some sort of impression left on the world.

_Here rests Beruka, retainer to Princess Camilla the first of Nohr._

_A great asset to the kingdom and as a friend to those who knew her._

_Loyal to the last._

It seemed cruel but Camilla had been sure to include the last line specifically.

“It’s what you’d have wanted, after all.”

No response. Camilla sighed, simultaneously sniffling and trying to wipe away her tears. Why couldn’t it have been raining?

“I miss you so much. I still have Selena but she doesn’t need me in the same way you did. You needed so much more from me than you got and for that I’ll never be sorry enough.” Another stream of tears were flicked away. “It isn’t fair and not what you deserve despite what you said. You paid the price for my failings as so many things. As a princess. As your liege. As a person. Your mind broke under the weight of my failure and that…that is unforgivable.”

Camilla turned sharply on her heel, not being able to bare the grave any longer. She felt ill, like she didn’t have the right. It was like the grave was staring back, accusing her. She’d had time to apologise while her retainer was still alive. Now it was too late. She hurried her step, desperate to get away. The servants were steering clear. Good.

She’d had so many opportunities to stop herself turning Beruka into…whatever this was. A distorted pet archetype for her to lavish attention on. She could’ve stopped many a time, but these selfish desires have selfish ends. Too little too late. A single tear broke free from Camilla’s visible eye. She wiped it.

There were no more tears to the world…for she had no more to give to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The alternate ending to the fic.
> 
> Camilla, you weren't good enough. You'll never forgive yourself and have to live with the guilt for as long as you do. How long that will be only time will tell.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: It's my headcannon that Camilla gives nicknames to her retainers: The localisation names are their actual ones and the Japanese are the nicknames. Hence, Camilla calls Selena, Luna, and Beruka, Belka. It just seems like the kind of thing Camilla would do, given her playful personality.
> 
> I've looked around and I haven't seen a single Beruka-centric fic and as one of my favorite Fates characters that borders on the criminal. She's just great in so many ways (including being female Solid Snake). Thus, this fic was born.
> 
> This is my first proper Fates work so I'd really appreciate you leaving a comment to tell me how I did. No pressure.
> 
> P.S. This is going to be a multi chapter fic but updates aren't going to be at a set time. I'll see you when I see you.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
